Never in Our Favor
by Insert a Catchy Penname Here
Summary: My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twelve years old, and I have been reaped for the Hunger Games. My family is starving, but the baker's son, Peeta, has promised to take care of them, even though he's my age. I will likely be killed by a boy who's two years older than me, a hunter named Gale. I probably will not survive, but I promised I'd at least try.
1. Part One: Tributes

Never in Our Favor 

Mom is awake before I am, sitting in her old rocking chair beside the burned-out fire, her hair a mess around her thin face. She isn't looking at me; I don't think she even realizes my presence. I slowly roll to my feet, waving my hand in front of her face. She doesn't respond, so she must be in one of her 'episodes'. Her episodes can last hours, even days, and they're constant. She leaves us even more than usual during these episodes, and she won't respond to anything my sister and I try.

I hate the episodes. They make everything seem so much worse than they actually are, but that definitely isn't by much at this point.

My little sister begins to wake up now, probably noticing my absence in our bed. I bite my lower lip and look over to the door, where my father's old hunting boots and his big leather jacket is hanging. Even though it's May, the temperatures here in District Twelve are always low, and unless it's July or early August, everyone always needs on some kind of protection from the wind. My father's jacket is what keeps me the warmest; it's even big enough to fit both my sister and I.

We need food again. The only way I can get it, though, is by going back into the woods. I've been trying for the past three months, running from every little noise I hear so I'm not caught. If I even get caught, I will be killed by the Peacekeepers. They'd take my baby sister, who just turned eight earlier this month, to that horrible orphanage where she would never be adopted or taught how to survive. She'd be dead by the end of this year and so would Mom.

I know I have to go now, while the sun is just now rising.

"Katniss?" My sister, Primrose, calls out softly as she sits up in bed.

She's so much smaller than the other kids because we're always starving, because the tesserae I get now still doesn't fill any of us up and because I'm still horrible at hunting compared to how our father was. She's always smiling, though. Even though Mom seems to always be in an episode, she combs out her hair in the morning and follows me around like she used to follow our parents around. I am her guardian now.

I walk over to her before she can get up and stroke her blonde hair down her back. "Why don't you get some extra sleep, Prim?"

"I'm not sleepy anymore." She pokes out her bottom lip in a pout. "Do we have food?"

I frown and lay her back down, trying to come up with some excuse so she won't get upset. "Not right now, but...But if you go sleep right now, when you wake up, we'll have food."

Her bright blue eyes get wide. "Really? Promise?"

"I promise." I pull the blanket up, tucking it around her tightly. She doesn't need to follow me into the woods, and even though I probably won't catch anything again, I might be able to find some edible berries.

She closes her eyes tightly and I breathe softly in relief, hurrying to pull on Dad's coat and slip my feet in his boots, tying the laces as tightly as I can. My feet are loud as I go as fast as I can through the dusty, empty streets; I hope the animals will ignore that in the woods. It's illegal to go into the woods, but there's no other way my family and I won't starve to death.

Four months ago, we would've been long gone. But we were all given hope, myself included, the a boy who worked at the bakery in the more rich part of District Twelve tossed me two loafs of burnt bread while I was dying in the rain. Prim and I found a book full of edible plants after that that our father wrote for my mother, so we began to scrape by with various mixes of vegetables and fruit until I finally turned twelve and got our first month of tessarae. That next day was when I began trying to hunt like Dad had.

Once I duck under the 'electric' fence that's never actually working, I go straight to the spot where Dad kept his bow as well as mine. He'd made my small one only weeks before he'd been blown to pieces in a mining accident. I grip it tightly as I put the quiver of arrows over my back, beginning to go through the woods as quietly as I can in the large boots.

As I look around for game, I wonder if I'll see the boy who also hunts in this woods. I certainly don't want too; he's older than me by two years and very full of himself. He hates me, too, and we have silent competition going on for who can last the longest hunting here. He always catches something and I've only shot a couple of rabbits before. Sometimes I think about asking for his help, but he'd never give it. To him, I'm just a scrawny twelve year old kid he runs into sometimes. We don't even know each other's names.

A twig snaps. I grip my bow tighter, slowly pulling out an arrow and notching it. It seems like forever before a squirrel scurries out, it's nose twitching. He catches sight of me before I let my arrow fly, but that's the last thing he ever sees. I'm gaping as it collapses; my arrow shot it right between the eyes. I can't move for several seconds. Someone clears their throat behind me, which sends me whirling back into motion, raising my bow on instinct at whoever it is.

"Damn." He lets out a low whistle. If my raising my weapon scares him, he doesn't show it. "I didn't know you could shoot like that, kid."

I turn away from him, going to pick up my squirrel. It's head almost falls off when I lift it and I grimace; I'm not looking forward to having to go into the Hob and beg for someone to take it off of my hands, because Mom definitely won't be able to cook it today.

Something whizzes by my ear and duck, turning back in the direction of the boy so quickly I fall down. He's holding his own bow, just lowering it as he smirks to himself. About ten feet away from us, a rabbit is now impaled through the heart.

"If you want it, you can have it." He looks at me with his dark gray eyes that look too much like mine.

I'm stunned at the offer. "What do you want in return?"

He simply turns away. "I can hunt and you just had your first really accurate shot out of luck. You need all the help you can get. I can manage."

As he strides away easily, I find myself not being able to move for a few endless moments. He must seem to notice me not going in the other direction, because he pauses and turns his head toward me. He's smirking again, like I just fell into some kind of trap. I stiffen again but he doesn't come closer or even turn all the way around.

Instead, he asks plainly, "What is your name, anyway?"

I glance down. I don't _want _him to know my name or even want him to _help_, but I know that I _do _need all the help I can get. I'm not going to be able to provide my family with enough food to survive simply on plants. I've got to know how to hunt well, and now that Dad is dead, he's the only one who could teach me.

"Katniss," I whisper, not meeting his gaze.

He chuckles darkly. "Catnip? That's not a name you hear every day."

I frown instantly and narrow my eyes. He's already turned away, though, and is loading another arrow without another glance at me. "What about you?!" I yell after him.

"Gale." After that he walks away, leaving me to scramble to pick up the rabbit and squirrel and scurry to the Hob.

I manage to get the rabbit gutted in exchange for half of it, and I trade the squirrel in for some more iodine to keep our water clean. I hurry back to my house and set my prizes on the table, planning on picking some berries before I have to get ready for my first Reaping. I couldn't tell Mom or ever let Prim know this, but I'm so scared. My name's in there three times instead of one, so I'm a little bit more likely to be picked for the Hunger Games than my classmates. Of course I'm still probably not going to be chosen, especially compared to the older kids, but there's always that risk.

About half an hour later and I've gotten as many blueberries as I can fit in the pockets of the jacket and piled them with the meat, which has already started to smell bad. I pull off my hunting clothes quickly and start to try cooking the meat over the fire; I drop half into the flames and barely get it out before it's completely ruined. I give up after that, climbing into a freezing tub of water after I get it from the water pump. While I'm trying to get most of the dirt and dust out of my hair, Prim wakes up again and sits up with a hopeful look on her face.

"Do we have food?" She sniffs the air and probably catches whiff of the last bits of smoke from my now scuffed fire.

"Yes, but we need to get clean before we eat." I decide I've done all I really can do and climb out, struggling with my tangled hair until I can put it in two braids.

I help Prim with her hair after she's cleaned up, and she plaits Mom's. We pull her to the table and we all eat the rabbit quickly, trying to ignore the burnt bits. We down half of the blueberries and save the rest for later, after the Reaping is over. I look down at my outfit- I'm wearing a white blouse that's loose on me and a tight gray skirt. Prim is wearing a plain gray coat over her normal clothes, her hair in two braids like mine. Mom is still in her nightgown but we don't question it as we begin to the center of the District, Prim holding both of our hands in her tiny ones.

Our District escort, Effie Trinket, is terrifying as usual. This year her hair is a bright green in color, her face looking like a box of paints threw up on it. She walks on the stage very carefully in way-too tall heels, everything about her lavish and excited about this horrible day. All the Capitolites think it's funny how they force one male and female tribute out of the twelve Districts every year to fight to death in an arena until only one is left standing, all of the tribute ranging from twelve to eighteen.

District Twelve has only had two Victors in seventy years, and the first one has been dead for twenty years. The other one is Haymitch Abernathy, who is always drunk or sleeping. He gives us an even worse name and gives the Capitol plenty of reasons to poke fun at our District every year.

After we watch a video describing the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason, it's time for the names to be called. I'm standing with the other twelve year olds, straining to see over the hundreds of heads in front of me as Effie hurries over to the bowl with all of the eligible girls' names inside. Mom and Prim are directly behind me; Mom is staring straight ahead with no emotion and Prim is gripping my hand as tightly as she can with both hands. I try to whimper when she pulls out a slip, going to back to the microphone with a proud look on her face.

"Katniss Everdeen!" She declares boldly for everyone to hear.

Heads turn to me instantly and I let out a weak sound of distress. Prim's eyes are wide and glued on me as I slowly slip free of her grip, stepping toward the stage. People move for me, some of their faces sympathetic. Someone could always volunteer to take my place, but nobody is going to do that. People around here tolerate me, so they only feel pity that I, a twelve year old, will go into the Hunger Games.

"Hello, darling!" Effie croons as I stand there, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable like I did when my father was killed. "Now, let's select your District partner!"

I find Prim and Mom in the crowd easily, as Prim's loud cries are easily heart in the deadly silence. Mom doesn't seem to care or notice I've been Reaped, that our family has now officially apart. I will die, Prim will be forced into the awful community home if she doesn't die with Mom before then.

"Gale Hawthorne!" Effie announces into he microphone.

My death has been sealed.


	2. Part One, Chapter Two: Final Goodbyes

Never in Our Favor 2 

As they force me into a room for my final goodbyes, I find tears in my eyes. Dad always talked about how I could never be shaken, no mater how badly I was hurt. He said I was like the largest tree in the forest, stubborn enough to stay and strong enough to do it.

_I'm like the Hanging Tree, _I decide as I angrily wipe the moisture from my vision.

For an eternity I sit in the too-fancy room with all of the velvet and lace in bright colors, as if even my District celebrates this. District 12 is a dark and gloomy place, so this room is entirely out of place. It belongs in the Capitol. I watch the various coal miners be forced to take down the stage and banners that lite up the square minutes ago; within the hour District 12 will be the same as it's always been. The only difference is that Prim will never go back to our house and that my mother will die, and Gale's family, whoever they might be, will be hungrier without his hunting.

The door opens and I whirl around, embracing my sister as she runs to me. Mom isn't with her, but I'm not worried about her right now. Prim's hot tears seep through the flimsy cloth of my shirt, but I know my own are soaking the top of her head. I never cry in front of her, but this is the last time I'll ever see her. I'll be strong for her during the Games until I die. Right now, I can't be.

"Yo...you're goin' die?" She whispers shakily.

I don't have the heart to tell her we're _all _going to die. I could never.

"I don't know, Prim." I slowly stroke her tightly wound, clumsily done braids. Did I really only just do them this morning?

This upsets her more, which is expected. "I-I don't want y-you to die!"

"I don't want to die either," I assure her quietly. "I promise I'll try to win for you."

"If...If you win, won't we live with Mr. Abernathy?" She inquires shakily, wiping her eyes briefly as she fixes on me with her blue eyes. Blue eyes, something she got from our mother, something from the merchant class.

"We'll live in the Victor's Village, that's right." I straighten her coat lightly.

"And...And what if you don't win?" She inquires nervously.

I sigh and her face clouds. The expression she now wears is much older than her tiny, ripe age, one that I see so often when I look in the mirror. I feel cold to the soul when she looks at me again.

"We all die?" She says it like a question, but she knows. "Like Dad?"

My heart, already hollowed by one loss, caves in all the way. She knows as well as I do the odds of me winning are slim to nonexsistant. I pull her closer, kissing her forehead weakly. We stand there together, holding onto each other with all we have, until the door opens again and a Peacekeeper announces that our time is up. She looks like she's about to struggle against them when they yank us apart, but quickly forms her face, still as fresh as she the flower for which she was named, into an expression like my own. One that's not afraid, one that's passive but not accepting.

"I love you!" She yells as they pull her out easily.

"I love-" My words are cut off by the door slamming shut again. I sink to my knees now and drive the backs of my knuckles into my stinging eyes. "I love you, too," I finish quietly.

Others come, but they're not very important. A few from school, a man who used to always to take my squirrels in exchange for some dairy. The mayor's daughter, Madge, makes an appearance as well, but she's crying too hard to really say anything. We were together a lot during school, so I guess we were friends. I notice a golden pin on her a shirt, a tiny little bird attached by the tips of the wings to the circle. She notices me looking at it and takes it off, extending her hand to me with it in her open palm.

"It's a Mockingjay pin," she says stuffily.

"What's a Mockingjay?" I slowly take it and turn it repeatedly in my fingertips, admiring the way it catches the light.

"You remember that lesson in school a few months ago about the Jabberjays?" She asks quietly, referring to these birds that the Capitol made in the Dark Days that could repeat anything. "Well, when the Dark Days were over, they went in the wild and mated with Mockingbirds. So, now there's Mockingjays."

I nod slowly. "That's cool."

When I hand it back to her, she hesitates. "Do you..want to keep it? As a token?"

"No, it's yours." I pin it back on her shirt just as the door is opening again.

"I want to give you something!" She implores suddenly, even as the Peacekeepers step in to yank her out like they had to my sister. "Yo-you're my only real friend!"

This stuns me briefly, but her actually _struggling _against the authorities snaps my brain back into motion. "Just...just check on Prim for me sometimes! Do-don't let her-"

My words are cut off when a Peacekeeper jerks back and his elbow collides with my mouth. I fall back onto the window bench as they drag her out quickly, slamming the heavy door in their wake. I never got her response because of that. I hope she understood me. Nobody else comes after her for the longest time and I a lot that time for me to cry. I don't care if they'll be cameras waiting as soon as I'm forced out, not yet. If I appear weak it's because I am.

Nothing happens for what seems like years. I get one last visitor after that, though, one that nearly makes me start crying again.

The boy who saved my family's lives a few months ago stands in front of me. He's holding a small package in his hands, looking very nervous. He's from the merchant class and it shows in his blonde hair and blue eyes. This reminds me too much of my mother and sister, both of which are probably going through Hell right now.

"My name is Peeta Mellerk," he says quietly. "You're...Katniss Everdeen, right?"

Slowly, I nod. Instead of looking him in the eyes, I look at the waxy package in his hands. "What's that?"

He brings it up and places it in my hands; it's slightly warm. "Cookies. I'm...not sure if you've ever had them before, but they're sweet. I thought you might like them."

A gift. Not one to save my life, rather one to send me off with. I slowly open it and look at the two treats made of sugar inside; this is something I'd never be able to taste otherwise. I take one out and stare it for a minute before quickly pressing it into his hand.

"We'll share them," I say quickly, quietly, so suddenly even I don't realize I say it until it's too late.

He looks as stunned as I feel but nods, bringing it to his lips and chewing carefully. I mirror his movements, still unable to look at his face. He still has a small mark from where his mother beat him the night he helped me, as she obviously hit him with something much harder than her hand. Unlike me, he seems to make it a point to watch me, his bright blue eyes alert but shy and reserved.

"I'm sorry I can't help you," he finally speaks again. "The bread wasn't even much, but-"

"Don't say that," I cut in. He looks up at me with alarm in his expression. "You saved us. My sister, my mother, and I would be dead if it wasn't for you."

He looks even more shocked than he did when I proposed our sharing his cookies. We stare at each other for a few moments before I look down again. This time, he places a trembling hand on my shoulder, making me jump briefly and him to flinch back instantly.

"I'll look after them for you," he says softly. "I won't let them take your sister."

I stare at him again, feeling my stomach twisting in knots but my heart leap. "How? They won't listen to you."

"No, but they will listen to my parents." He looks so sincere and kind, I almost want to start crying again. "I'll get them to take them in for a little while, until you come back."

"And if I don't?"

He goes quiet for a moment. "...My mother always wanted a daughter."

We're both quiet after that. He doesn't have to say anything else because we both already knew that's the only way Prim will survive, if even that happens. Even though they're from the richer class, it's still hard to come by enough food in District 12, especially when a family is large. The Mellerk family has four already. Five would be a risky number, and six is unreasonable.

"Thank you for saving us," I say after another period of silence.

"You don't have-" He tries. He's selfless and pure, like my sister.

"Yes I do." I interject with more force than intended. "I'll never be able to repay you for what you're doing."

The doorknob turns and he stands up at the same time I do. He makes a bold move by kissing my cheek before skirting to the door, glancing back at me when he's at a safe distance.

"Shoot straight," he says simply before darting out.

I spend the rest of the time I'm inside the room pacing, trying to make sense of Peeta's kindness. I've never done anything for him to merit it except manage to trade a squirrel for a bit of cream from his father last week, but that still doesn't explain his throwing me the burnt bread months before. These thoughts cloud my mind even as the door opens a final time and I'm escorted out, right into the flashing cameras and buzz of the reporters.

A few from my District watch as Gale and I are lead to the train after a brief car ride. (Effie Trinket did not make the experience any better.) A woman who resembles him stands among them, holding three younger kids close that watch Gale with fear and confusion on their faces. Prim stands grasping my mother's hand near them; she doesn't look like she's been crying, but she seems more vulnerable, her eyes full of sadness and her too-thin body huddled close to our all but dead parent.

The second we're on the train the scent of hot food slams into my face, making my senses overload with pleasure. All across the car food is waiting for us, set up in elegant silverware. Most of them I can't recognize, but even one of the clusters would feed my family for a week. Even Gale, who's made it a point to not show emotion this entire time, looks longing.

"It's all at your disperse!" Effie squeals. "You get to live the Capitol life, but only for a little while, so you may enjoy it to it's fullest!"

She doesn't have to tell either of us twice. Half an hour later I'm in a room I was told is mine for tonight, my stomach so full I can hardly think. Effie warned us that dinner would be soon and that'd we needed to save room, but I'll probably skip it and eat more of the display food once everyone else is done. I don't want to interact with anymore any more than I'm forced too.

There's a knock at the door that's much too heavy to be from frail Effie. I tense, fearing it'll be Gale to kill me early, but instead an extremely drunk Haymitch Abernathy stumbles in. He won the 50th Annual Hunger Games, but right now it doesn't seem like he could kill a fly, much less other tributes.

"You...you're young," he slurs out, leaning against the door frame heavily. "Both-" He burps. "Of you."

I can't help but sneer. "What does it matter? You won your Games when you fifteen, didn't you?"

He grins and tries to look at me, but his eyes are too unfocused. "I-" Another loud burp. "Like you. You've got...spirit."

He proceeds to drop on my floor, probably unconscious or asleep. I skirt around him and head for the back of the train. If I'm going to win the Games, I can't rely on him for help, and I definitely can't trust in Gale or Effie. My family is still as good as dead and back at District 12.

I'm even more alone than when Dad died.


	3. Part One, Chapter Three: The Chariots

Never in Our Favor 3

"It's going to be a big, big day!" Effie's squealing and knocking wakes me in the morning. "Up, up, up, we'll be in the _Capitol_ soon!"

Even with my being awake, I don't move until I'm certain she's ready to drag me out of bed by my hair. I don't have any more hunting to rouse for, unless you count the killing that's promised I'll be forced to do in the arena if I'm going to survive. I don't want to interact with any of the Capiolites, and Gale and I still can barely stand each other's presence. I'm enemies with everyone already, and the Games have not even begun yet.

I reach over to the empty side of the bed- my entire family, my father included, could easily fit in this soft space- to remind myself of the promise I made to Prim. This is enough to get me to my feet and into the bathroom, where I experiment with the shower until I'm completely wrinkled and burned in several places. I'm instantly blown dry by a series of powerful fans, my hair falling untangled on either side of my shoulders like it was when I got in, wavy from the braids and shiny from the water.

My reflection stares back at me for a few long moments. I'm thin and not very tall even compared to Effie, who looks like a mere breeze could knock her down. My hair is extremely long, almost to the tops of my thighs, and my eyes are gray just like the dust constantly in our District. According to the miners who'd visit my father at our home on occasion, I'm way too young to be pretty, but they commented that I was cute. They are wrong, but no amount of protesting would have them believing that. I'm sure, at least, the Capitolites will agree with me.

Lucky for me, I've stalled long enough that nobody is in the dining cart by the time I greet in, wearing my Reaping outfit still. I'm still gorging on the feast still laid out in wait for me when the cart grows dark, making me leap to my feet and take a sense I have a feeling looks like that of an animal. I slowly creep toward the window none the less, squinting when the light bursts back in and reveals the place that sends children to die for fun- the Capitol.

Even though I despise them all, their living is beautiful. The buildings touch the sky, the sun makes everything sparkle and shine, there's no disorganization or mess. The actual Capiolites, on the other hand, are hideously stunning. They cheer with lips larger than my fist, hairs and skins are wild colors, hair styles bizarre and patterns etched all over them anywhere I look. They're all cheering, staring as we roll by, quite a few reaching out as if to touch me as we zoom past the enormous crowd. I mentally to smile back, but I do wave slowly until they're finally out of sight.

"You can do better than that." A voice behind me surprises me so badly I nearly topple when I whirl around.

Haymitch is standing almost directly behind me; I don't know how his stench didn't make me detect him. He's holding a wine glass full of alcohol, a loose expression of tutting on his face.

"What do you mean?" I demand, my voice coming out sharp and irritated.

He steps closer and I nearly gag. "Look, kid. If you want to survive, you have to get _Sponsors. _They're the ones who send the parachutes with food, a box of matches, and water. If you can get them to _like you, _then you've increased your chance of survival at least five percent."

Five pecent is more than no percent. "Then how do I get them to like me?"

He gives me a loose grin. "You can figure that out on your own, sweetheart."

On that sloppy note, he staggers in the other direction, probably to find more liquor. Something instant sparks in me briefly, but not so briefly that I don't seize Haymitch's shoulder and all but pin him to a wall. He snatches me by the back of the hair harshly and pulls back, but I just knee him in the stomach and wind up up with sprayed vile in my face. I grimace, but it's not like Prim didn't spit up on me before when she was little.

"How do I get them to like me?" I demand despite the sickening stench.

He scowls at me. " You don't attack them. Smile big for the cameras. Pretend you aren't some screw up kid from the mines. I don't know, act _innocent." _

I step back and he almost collapses with the sudden absence of my weight on his, even though that's not much. He's quickly stumbling off, however, grumbling not very quietly complaints about me. I go in the opposite direction, ducking back into the bathroom and staring at my Reaping outfit, which now has his puke on it. I angrily pull it off of my body, tossing it to the shower floor and standing under the scalding water, still fuming.

I'm interrupted hardly five minutes later by Effie, who's screeching that I'm ready to be 'transferred' in about ten minutes. I consider ignoring her but decide I'd rather not be shown in front of Panem completely naked, so I allow the bizarre machine to dry me again as well as my outfit from home. I'm just buttoning up the shirt when Effie knocks quickly again.

"We're stopped, we're stooped! Hurry, hurry, hurry!" She calls frantically.

I stare at my reflection, at my fluffy, wavy hair, and seize it all in one hand, clumsily doing a single braid over my shoulder for time's sake. The second I step out of the bathroom I'm whisked by our escort outside where I'm met with another large crowd. Eventually, I'm inside of a plain white room with three freaky products of the Capitol- Flavius, who has orange, corkscrew type hair, Venia, who's nearly as thin as me with blue hair, and Octavia, who's entire body is light shade of green.

"You are so hairy!" Octavia squeals as she rips off three layers of my skin along with any traces of hair. "Goodness, do you never _shave?" _

I bite my tongue to prevent retorting that I've hardly been able to bath my entire life, much less 'shave'. After a lifetime of being waxed, shaved, pulled, and left to dry, Octavia begins painting my nails black and Flavius picks up my sloopy braid.

"Who on earth did this?" He inquires.

"I did." I look at him blankly, refusing to be truly insulted by his judgement.

He surprises me, though. He breaks into a wide grin and holds it up for his fellow stylists, looking truly delighted.

"Is this not a piece of work!" He coos, his own hairstyle bouncing along with him. "Katniss, be a dear and redo it for me, just a bit tighter this time. It makes you look so...so..."

"Sophisticated!" Octavia squeals.

He nods eagerly in agreement as they shove my hands under some kind of drier that makes the nail polish stick the my nails almost instantly. Venia sets a mirror in front of me as they all gather around to watch carefully; my stomach twists as I shakily do as they ask. Obviously they see my nerves, because they keep crooning encouragements even though I know it looks like terrible. My mother used to have such careful, precise hands that could make even me look a little more than presentable.

After I've finished, Venia leads me to a similar white room, one with more light than in the one before. It's got a carpet and a small white robe is hanging up for me, though I get the feeling that's optional.

"Icarus shall be with you soon," she informs me simply.

"Who is Icarus?" I inquire.

"Your stylist," she explains, blushing slightly. "He's very, _very _skilled. He's promised a big surprise this year, one that'll make everyone rally on District 12!"

I briefly imagine Gale, bitter past his years, having this same conversation with one member of his prep team, scowling the entire time or rolling his eyes. I simply nod and she finally leaves, leaving me to pull on the robe and curl up on the metal table. The outfits for District 12 are usually just baggy pants and lanterns, since we're the coal mining District. We're always ignored along with Districts Nine, Ten, and Eleven. The cameras and Sponsors always go for the Career Districts, and even occasionally those surrounding ones depending on the gaudiness of the first outfit in the Chariot Parade.

A man who's face I've seen at least one shot of on camera enters after what seems like hours. He's got dyed gray hair that's twisted back to look like a wig- I suppose he's going for an old fashioned kind of classy. His blue eyes pop out because of the black makeup all around his eyes, and his outfit consists of a fluffy shirt and stacks, a perfect example of how ridiculous the Capitol is.

"Hello," he says curtly in his strange accent. "My name is Icacrus le Ville, I will be your stylist."

He slowly walks around me in his heeled dress shoes, ones that my father would've loved to have. He smirks slightly as he toys with the end of my braid, looking pleased for many reasons.

"Yes, you and the boy will do nicely," he muses. "The strength and the determination of District Twelve."

"Determination?" I repeat. I look like the wind could push me over, even more so than Effie.

"Your scowl," he says dismissively. "You want to be a fighter, just like your District partner. It has...potential to be adorable, especially once my work is done with you."

The time period I was waiting for him must have actually been hours, because within a very short period of time I have gray, smokey makeup around my eyes and I'm standing almost completely naked on the Chariot. I have black pieces of cloth covering my breasts and lower regions, but I'm so caked in artificial soot that nobody can see that. Gale stands next to me like a fortress, his face wiped of emotion, not showing any evidence of modesty. I'm blushing despite myself- I've never been good with nudity- but I've had a lot of practice the past few months not letting my emotion leak onto my face for Prim's sake. I do that now as the parade begins.

I take the time being in the last of the line to look at my competition. District One consists of a small girl with dark, alert eyes, and a boy that's not massive, but has plenty of meat on his bones. District Two has a pair that's equally beefy and arrogant, and their similarities don't end there; I believe they're twins. District 3 offers a girl a year old than me with scars up and down her arms and a older boy with his head down. District Four catches my eye particularly- The girl is beautiful and thin, someone that I'd expect more along the lines of the Capitol without the hideous makeup. The boy isn't bad looking either, bu he's young, only a year older than me and holding her hand tightly. To my alarm, she's holding it back boldly; they're allies already.

District Five and District Six both have fourteen through seventeen year olds, none of which dreaw much attention with their sunken faces. District Seven, however, has something unusual- two twelve years olds. They don't seem to know each other but look even more vulnerable standing on opposite ends; the girl is crying. Districts Eight, Nine, and Ten appeal to me as much as Districts Five and Six, and soon the District Eleven Chariot with a fifteen year old and an eighteen year old is pulling out.

"You nervous?" Gale isn't looking at me when he speaks but there's nobody else he could be talking to.

I consider not responding before saying simply, "Not of them."

He chuckles darkly as we advance toward the roaring crowd. "Of course you're not."

I'd like to know what that means, but it's so loud so suddenly I can hardly hear my own thoughts. I see the Capitols looking to us for longer than they usually do, pointing and yelling things to each other. Gale stares straight ahead, but Haymitch told me that the key to survival is to get them to like me. If this is only time I'll ever have any type of their attention, I have to make the most of it. I begin to wave, trying to ignore the dust blowing everywhere and my braid coming loose. By the time we're all to President Snow, I'm sure I at least got one sympathetic vote.

President Snow stands before all of us, giving his usual speech in a ceremonial tone. "Tributes. We are gathered here today to celebrate your courage and sacrifice. This is sure to be a year full of excitement and loss. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

His eyes glance over to me the same way they do to the twelve year olds from Seven. They are not sympathetic but they are not mocking, and I can appreciate the latter. I don't want his pity. I don't want to ever see him again, but if I win, I'll have too.

As I'm uploaded and lead to our new rooms at the Training Center, I'm still trying to decide which one is worse.


	4. Part One, Chapter Four: Training

Never in Our Favor 4

The first arrow I fire is close to the bullseye, but not close enough.

"That's much better than most of our tributes do," the man is charge of the station muses to me. "Why don't you try again?"

I nod, though I wasn't planning on leaving until I've emptied the quiver. All of the stations I've visited have managers who are trying too hard to baby me, to urge me along as if I'm like all the other twelve year olds from the past. The District Seven boy has been crying most of this time, and though I don't blame him, I haven't cried since my goodbyes to my family. As if I wasn't at a disposition enough being as young as I am, everyone is set on treating me like the boy.

I notch another arrow and pull back the string, firing the rest of the set until I manage a bullseye somewhere in between. The man is smiling wildly at me, seeming surprised and amused more than anything else.

"Where did you learn to shoot like that, little girl?" He inquires.

I avert my gaze from his. "I dunno."

My father, I think as I hurry away from him, toward the camaflauge station. In the woods, where I belong. Where I'd try to get enough to survive off of for my sister and mother.

"Your bow skills are better than you let on." Gale is suddenly towering over me, his training shirt drenched in sweat. "What else have you been hiding from me?"

"Nothing that I know of," I reply curtly. I move to step around him but he moves with me, blocking me between a set of weights and himself.

"You're lying," he states simply.

"What's it to you, anyway?" I can force my gaze to his, but the way he's staring at me so cynically makes me feel even more ridiculous in my double braids and suit that hangs loosely around my frame.

"Everyone here is under the impression that you're some weak, helpless girl from District 12." He glances up and I follow his eyes to the area high above where the Gamemakers sit. My stomach rolls as a few of them stare right at me for a bit before turning off to someone else. "You have to prove to them you're not."

"What would that prove other than that I'm a target?" I ask coldly.

"You're already a target. Everyone thinks you'll die at the Cornocopia. Most twelve year olds do." He scowls in return. "I'm just trying to help you."

"Why?" I keep my face emotionlesss, though my heart is pounding in my ears.

If I do anything out of the ordinary, the other tributes will think I'm dangerous and will come after me. My best bet is to blend in with the other twenty three tributes until the Games begin, where I'll likely die at the bloodbath regardless. Nothing can save me now and I know that. It's just how things are, and the more I try to fight them the less I will make my promise worth.

"Because my I know we're both going to die and I want you to at least have a chance to make it past the first night," he snaps. "Why won't you just listen to me? I know what the hell I'm talking about."

"You're older than me. It doesn't mean you know anything more than the rest of us." I step around him swiftly, while he's stunned, and try to lose myself in the crowd.

I probably just made him want to kill me more, and even thought that's terrifying in itself, what's done is done. I don't run into him for the rest of the day, at least until we're led back to the penthouse. Effie is fussing over how we'll need to begin preparing for the interviews tonight after dinner, but I don't plan on attending. I doubt Gale will, either.

"Did you two learn anything at training?" Haymitch slurrs from where he's sprawled out on the couch.

I move to walk past him, but he grips my arm like a vice before I can. His breath reeks as he pulls me closer, growling, "I asked a question, sweetheart."

"Not really," I say curtly. "May I go now?"

He grunts in my ear and lets me go, allowing me to stumble back to my room. I sleep early that night, not bothering myself with eating with everyone else and rather just invading the displays once everyone else is asleep. I'm already gaining weight; the Capitol food has many more nutrients than any of the food I've had before, so even though it causes me stomach pain, I can afford the extra pounds.

Effie rises me before the sun the next day, insisting we begin on interview training and scolding me for not letting her begin on me last night. I'm put through hours of balancing in heels and trying to walk in dresses, neither of which I can actually do. I do training the rest of the morning and afternoon trying to forget Effie's screeching to me, which was more annoying than insulting.

While I'm eating lunch at one of the tables alone, just like I did yesterday, the boy from Seven approachs me. Even compared to me he looks painfully thin, and he doesn't look like he's figured out how to do the complex grooming units here yet. His black curls fall in front of his face as he bows his head to me, looking as helpless as Prim.

"Can I...eat with you?" He requests quietly.

"What about your District partner?" I ask, not glancing up from eating my apple.

"I don't think she likes me very much." He shifts uneasily in place. "I mean...If you don't want too, that's okay."

The way he's blushing reminds me of Peeta, who showed so much kindness to me and my family. I slowly nod, averting my gaze as he hastily sits down and begins gulping down his own lunch. He's obviously still very nervous, but I don't blame him.

"You're..." Suddenly he's stopped eating, staring at me with wide brown eyes. "Catnip, right?"

"Katniss." I correct quietly. I feel slightly guilty; I don't know what his name is at all.

"I'm...I'm Tetri," he says cautiously. "Um...I'm saying we _have _to be an alliance, b-but.."

He falters and bows his head, obviously ashamed again. I consider it; I'd never want to kill him, but if I got down to the two of us, I would have to if I wanted to come home to Prim. We'll likely never get to that point, however, so it could potentially be safe. Reversely, he could be setting me up to kill me, but he certainly doesn't act like he has anything violent in him.

"We'll see," I finally decide. I stand up quickly and turn my back. "The Personal Training Assessment will tell more about us than we could to each other."

That night back at the penthouse, I stay in the main room, watching the Reapings for the first time, as I avoided them when got on the train. From District One, the small girl with attentive eyes is emotionless climbing on the stage, her long dark hair tied back in a bun as she stares at the entire audience. She almost looks nervous, but the determination on her face is a clear indication she was not Reaped for no reason. There are no volunteers, which is extremely surprising, but that seems to be forgotten by the audience when they surge for the male spot. Obviously the boy with meat on his bones I saw during the Chariot Rides was the one who fought his way beside the escort first, but it wasn't easy. I briefly try to imagine the starving people in my District doing that and fail; 'tribute' and 'corspe' are synonymous in District 12.

The two twins from District Two boldly volunteer together, two massive eighteen year olds with blonde hair and blue eyes. Their names are Strap and Sterling; I debate which one is more vicious briefly. The girl from District Three, the one who's older than me by a year, sticks out like a sore thumb in the crowd even before her name- Veria- is called. She has a ton of black makeup on, she's deathy pale, and she's got a pair of gray cords in her ears, bobbing her head to whatever she's listening to in the small box in her pocket as she's pulled on stage. I notice all the scars on her arms and legs under the thinly done dress, however, and how nobody will look at her directly. Even the boy tribute, who looks like they could be related somehow, all but refuses to shake her hand at the end of the ceremony.

She's obviously one of the outcasts of the District, to which I can relate. Those of us from the Seam have always been treated poorly, and those families have hopelessly poor as mine are shunned.

The District Four catches my once again, this time with one of the former Victors. Her name is Annie Cresta, and when her name was called, she shakily walked to the stage in tears. She was instantly embraced by Finnick Odair, who was the youngest person to win the Hunger Games at fourteen, which was five years ago. When the boy, thirteen like the girl from District Three, came on stage, Annie pulled him into their hug tightly. None of them let go until they were pried apart by the Peacekeepers, and only a few members of the crowd before them look surprised.

I fast forward to the District Seven Reaping, where the girl is shaking as she climbs on the stage. She's not trying to hide her terror but she is withholding tears, which was likely wise. Her name, I notice, is Hallow, and when they do a pan-in for her family, nobody is standing near her with prominent tears other than a dark-haired woman in her thirties or forties, and they don't look related at all. When Tetri is called more people cry, though they're almost all little kids huddled around a lumbering man and woman with tight faces. None of them look related, but by the small stars pinned to the front of that small group's shirts, they're bonded by something other than blood.

"You looked brave when you were Reaped." I turn around to see Haymitch staring at me in the doorway, looking almost sober for the first time. "I get the impression that wasn't intentional."

I turn back to the screen and fast forward again, all the way to the District 12 Reapings. When my name is called, the cameras find me quickly, zooming in on my expression. My eyes are wide and on tiny little Prim, who is already sobbing. None the less I go onto the stage, and even I can tell I was trying not to cry by the way I move.

"That doesn't look brave," I inform my mentor. "Gale looks brave. He had no emotion on his face at all."

"He looks like a robot." He scowls and plops down heavily beside me. "He's also reckless. I was watching you two today during training; he's nothing but brute force. He won't make it past the Cornucopia and he'll go down fighting. You've got more a chance than him."

"I'm twelve," I remind him tightly. "Twelve year olds never make it past the first name, especially not from Twelve."

"Twelve year olds are supposed to be sniveling cowards who try too hard." He suddenly grabs my arm and yanks me closer. "You're one of those who don't stick out at all, even though you're way too young for this. You're careful. I've seen you go out into the woods just before I crash for the day. You can survive."

My eyes widen as my stomach rolls. "You've seen me go into the woods?"

"I'm the only one up at those hours, kid. I used to see your father go out, too. You're his daughter, it was only a matter of time before you followed in his footsteps." He snorts. "The point is, kid, your father taught you more things than even you realize. I'm going to train you privately tomorrow after Effie finishes teaching you to be a 'little lady'."

"Why would you want to do it privately?" I ask curtly, though I feel a little grateful for his concern. "What about Gale?"

"Like I said.." He stands above me, briefly looking vaguely like someone who could actually have won the Hunger Games. "He won't make it past the first night."

He trudges off, looking annoyed but solemn. I slowly get to my own feet and peer briefly into Gale's room, where I find him throwing pins at a picture of a Capitol woman on the wall. He looks as he always does- angry, full of rage, but also tired from living.

"You were listening to that, weren't you?" I finally say.

He doesn't look at me as he sticks another dart in the picture's 'face'. "No. But he already talked to me. Said I didn't have a chance with my damn attitude or skills."

"Did you believe him?" I refrain from stepping in fully, but I do lean closer.

"Of course not. The damned old drunk doesn't know what the hell he's talking about." He gets down to one dart in his clenched fist. "If he offered you training, just decline it. He can't teach us shit."

He used the word 'us.'

"Maybe he can," I point out. "He won the Games once."

"Do what you want, then," he snaps. He turns toward me and throws the dart, and if I wasn't quick to the door, he probably would've taken out my eye.

I shouldn't make enemies right now and I know that, but as I go back to my room, I swear revenge.


	5. Part One, Chapter Five: Single Evalution

Never in Our Favor 5

As we're all waiting for our names to be called for our personal training assessments, I notice how none of the tribute pairs are truly sitting together. We've seemed to sort ourselves based on age and classification- the Career pack, those from One, Two, and Four, are all conversing in mutters to each other, and everyone else stays in mini groups. Gale has gone off with a boy from Six, one who's seventeen and seems to be pretty aggressive, so I awkwardly seat myself beside my fellow twelve year olds, the ones from Seven.

"Hey...Katniss?" Tetri asks quietly not long after I sit.

Hallow looks up as well when he speaks, her brown eyes reflecting sadness like Prim's did. I get the feeling she wants to be allies with him, but she's also very afraid, even of him.

"Yes?" I reply simply.

"Who do you think will be the most deadly?" His own brown eyes flicker to the other twenty one tributes.

I glance over them all again, more briefly than I did watching the Reapings last night. "The Career Pack is always the most dangerous. The boy from District Ten looks like he could be really strong, but I'm not sure about intelligence."

He nods quietly and falls silently. Hallow speaks up after the District Two girl is called in, her voice uncertain but not timid.

"The District Four girl is nice," she informs us, though her tone is a murmur. "She helped me out in the handmade weapons section yesterday. She's very skilled at making fishhooks."

"District Four is the fishing district," Tetri adds softly.

Both of them turn to me and I tense on instinct. They obviously want me to contribute to the conversation- I think they both want me as an ally, but though I'm not all for that idea, I'm not totally against it. We all seem like we'd be able to the same in the arena, as we're all no strangers to starvation or harsh conditions.

"One of the past Victors is going to help her." I finally force out. "What about your mentors?"

Hallow looks like she's about to respond instantly, but she glances into my eyes for a moment and seals her lips back tightly. Tetri fidgets as well, glancing at me like he's a deer compared to a bear.

"We have six," he says. "But none of them are very good, so none of them will probably help. What...what about...yours?"

I shake my head, trying to be as vague as possible. Haymitch did take me in for private training this morning, and in that session he gave me several tips about survival, such as how water will be my best friend in the arena and how fire is extremely dangerous unless there's an excellent hiding spot far, far away from the other tributes. Right after that my brain was numbed by Effie's fussing over me, so I'm not sure I can remember anything else of what he said.

"Hallow Erans." The speaker says drolly, making all three of us jump briefly. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts I didn't realize the crowd of tributes slowling thinning around us.

She stands up stiffly. She's wearing a braid as well, though hers is single and down her back, but it's coming undo rapidly as she walks stiffly toward the door. I reach out instinct and grab her shoulder; maybe it's because her hair is blonde or she's trying so hard to be brave, but she's reminded me of Prim and I feel the overwhelming urge to help her.

"Here." I stand and take her braid, unfastening and refashioning the lower half with my own clumsy fingers as quickly as I can.

"Hallow Erans." The owner of the speaker's voice repeats, sounding extremely impatient.

I pull the braid a final time to tighten it and retie the end, letting go of her instantly. She turns back to look at me, then apparently thinks different and rushes ahead. Almost everyone is looking at me as I reseat myself and duck my head down, not even thinking of lifting my gaze until I feel like everyone has lost interest in my strange act of kindness. From watching the others and seeing reports on the television each year, I know that the Gamemakers and Peacekeepers constantly have to keep tributes from trying to kill each other before the Games. Other than light allies or being in the Career pack, there is nothing kind among tributes in the Games. What I just did was extremely rare and dangerous.

"That was very kind," Tetri says softly. "I...I thought she got upset when I didn't eat with her yesterday, so I was thinking about an alliance with her."

He doesn't have to say anymore to hear his unspoken question.

"Yes," I tell him. "She'd make a good ally, especially if she has any talent in the areas you lack in."

His eyes light up a bit, I note from looking to him out of the corner of my eye. "Well, I'm pretty good at the medicines and foods, and she seemed to really like the weapon stations...Do you think she'd be good at fighting?"

"How intelligent is she?" I respond.

He considers this and his face falls. "I don't really know, but I think she's average like me."

There's another unspoken question behind that. Before I can configure a response, his own name is called- Tetri Young is his full name- and I'm left sitting on a bench alone. I instinctively retreat toward the back of the room, though that's where Gale is now sitting alone, and press myself into the furthest corner from everyone else. I get a few more glances but nothing more, at least until Gale and I are the only ones left.

"What are you going to show them?" He asks me in a grunt, not looking toward me.

"I don't know." I was planning on archery, but I doubt I'm skilled enough to really impress them.

"You should show them how handy you are with a bow. It's better than I could do when I was twelve. Shit, in a year or so it'll be better than me now." He chuckles without humour. "All I know how to do is set traps. Maybe that will pull me by."

"What types of traps?" I glance to him now.

"Why would I tell you that?" His tone is instantly cold, resentful. "I wouldn't want you to use that against me."

The sudden cold shoulder offends me, but we both know that's not a justified emotion. That's all I've been doing to him the past three days, despite his futile efforts to help save me. Silence consumes us, leaving me to consider what to do about Tetri and Hallow further, at least until my name is called.

"Katniss." I don't stop walking or turn when he says my name after the speaker, but I listen to what he says and I get the feeling he knows I am. "You say your name more loudly this time. Wouldn't want to be known as 'Catnip Everdeen'."

I smile without amusement and keep that playing on my lips as I'm lead by two Peacekeepers in order to mask my terror. If anything this just seems to make me think I'm deranged, because they stare at me until I've gone to the center of the large room I've been taken in to and faced the panel of Gamemakers high above me. They all look slightly amused, but they're all blantly tired from the other tributes before me.

"You have fifteen minutes to show us your skills," the Head Gamemaker, Arcadian Greel, monotones. "Good luck, little girl."

I glance away from his judgmental, precise face to pick up one of the bows, which is far too big for me. I manage to get it up against my shoulder, however, and notch it, quickly firing my first arrow with almost everything shaking with nerves. It hits nowhere near the target and a few of the Gamemakers chuckle, but their looking away annoys me a bit. Even though I know it's pointless to feel like I do, at least from a logical standpoint, their knowledge of how small my chances are of surviving their arena and amusement toward it is extremely provoking.

I notch another arrow and fire blindly, not even managing to hit the target. Before I know it I'm down to one arrow and I've been informed I only have one more minute left. I'm drenched in sweat and still shaking as they all dine above me, not even Aracdian paying mind to me now. I consider putting away the bow but decide to fire the shot, if for nothing else than to guarantee I fulfilled my promise of attempting with my all to Prim. I just close my eyes and fire blindly, amusing myself with the thought it will hit one of the Peacekeepers who think I'm insane as they re-enter.

A horrible cracking sound splits through the air, making me jump and drop the huge bow. All eyes are suddenly glued to me again, but I'm running too quickly to see their faces. My heart is pounding my ears as I tear into the lobby of the Training Centre, my footsteps sounding like thunder all the way up the flights of stairs until I eventually collapse around set eight or nine.

I'm not thinking about my flying retreat right now, though. All I can in my mind is the image of the last arrow I shot, splitting the first arrow I'd shot right down the middle.


End file.
